Made of Stars
by gveret
Summary: "Lena," Kara asks, "what are you to me?" (In which Kara becomes a deity of protection, and it complicates things just a little. Featuring: a determined big sister, an endlessly supportive love interest, and some dad advice.)
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** Inspired by an amazing Supergirl sun suit design and the concept of Kara as a sort of sun deity, by plastic-pipes on tumblr. Go take a look! It's so fucking good.

 **Warning** for mentions of child endangerment, attempted rape, Nazism, capitalism, injury, illness, attempted self harm. All very very brief (except a description of an injury next chapter that's slightly less brief, so heads up if that bothers you). All but the last are within the context of Kara's various heroic acts.

 **This is part 1 of 2**. Next and final part will be posted tomorrow. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Kara is dreaming of space. It happens sometimes. Occasionally it's wonderful. Often, it's emotionally devastating. She can't tell yet which kind this dream will prove to be.

She feels surprisingly clearheaded; it feels almost like a lucid dream, except she has no control over it. She looks down at herself. She's wearing a suit reminiscent of her Supergirl uniform, except it's a little different: it covers her legs down to the ankles, there is no skirt, and the fabric shines with a thousand tiny dots of starlight. She's barefoot.

The space in which she's floating in the dream seems to be obeying the regular laws of physics; there's no friction, and she can't move forward or even turn herself around. She tears a piece off her long, flowing cape and throws it at an angle, so that she floats backward slowly and on an axis. As she's leisurely turned by the momentum to face the space previously outside her field of vision, she sees it: the reason she's here in this dream, she's certain. An enormous, burning red sun.

The laws of physics abruptly cease to apply; she freezes in place facing the star, her feet finding inexplicable purchase in the void.

"Kara of the house of El," the star—says? Communicates? Vibrates? That doesn't seem accurate; it doesn't move at all, there is no sound, just the memory afterward of words being spoken, echoed in Kara's mind with the vague familiar voice of her more concrete thoughts. "We have summoned you for the purpose of a gift. You have been deemed worthy. Our power is offered freely. Will you accept?"

But Kara is already powerful. More powerful sometimes than she's comfortable with, certainly more than she feels entitled to. Despite that her chest feels expanded with awe, that her body is shaking so deeply the friction of her bare feet could have coaxed sparks from the ground, if she weren't floating in frictionless space; despite that she's having a _conversation_ with her very _God_ , their offer doesn't appear that tempting.

"We appeal to your responsibility instead," Kara suddenly remember the star saying. She feels as if she's missing something, but a she recalls more it doesn't seem important. "We offer tools of protection. We offer means of prevention. We offer power fit only for she who does not seek it. We ask humbly, Kara of Danvers and El, that you accept."

Kara feels struck to her core; in this moment, she's unnervingly helpless and unimaginably powerful. She has no choice, of course. She accepts.

Rao pulses, flares, and dims, and Kara Danvers inherits divinity.

.

.

.

Opening her eyes in the aftermath is logically unnecessary; Kara can see well enough without them now. She does it anyway, though. Her body seems to find it comforting.

This is what she sees: Her sister, Alex, though she's forgotten the meaning of sisterhood. Her friend, Winn, though friendship seems meaningless in the face of her overwhelming love for all things living and dead and shifting and still. And her superior, J'onn, though she's no longer bound by any command other than that of her own purpose.

She remembers their faces, but the constellations of muscles within them seem suddenly incomprehensible. Calmly she notes the way her heart contracts more frequently at Alex's sudden touch to her cheek.

Alex is crying. Kara's forgotten what that signifies also. "Kara," Alex says, her voice unsteady. "We thought we'd lost you."

"I'm here," Kara tells her, and Alex nods and cries more loudly.

"Good to have you back, Supergirl," J'onn says, smiling in a very familiar way. Still, Kara can't decode it.

She reaches up a hand to touch J'onn's cheek the way Alex is touching hers. They breathe together for a moment.

Kara sits up. Alex makes a noise and attempts to push her back down. She must be misinterpreting the situation. "Alex, I must go now," Kara explains, turning to look at her.

"Oh, you're not going anywhere until we figure out exactly what happened and how to prevent it from repeating, Kara. Your eyes are still glowing! You were in a fucking _coma!_ "

Kara removes Alex's hands from her shoulders. "That is unnecessary," she says, climbs off the cot and turns to go. She briefly pats Alex's cheek as she goes. Despite her explanation, all three of them follow her.

"Kara, you're still disoriented. I'd recommend you listen to your sister," says J'onn.

"Your eyes look really scary. Cool, but scary. Also, yeah, what he said," says Winn.

"Kara! Get the fuck back in bed!" says Alex.

Kara doesn't turn to look at them. It would be pointless. She seems unable to glean anything from their expressions, and she doesn't need to face them to see. And she doesn't want to encourage further conversation. "No," she says, and wipes herself out of the room.

.

.

The Earth is doing badly. Its atmosphere is tattered, its oceans poisoned, its lands unbalanced. Humanity is doing badly too. Her only point of comparison is her childhood memory of her home, memory which has likely been retreaded and polished to the point of complete corruption. Still, she feels humanity's pain, and she refuses to believe this state is natural or irrevocable.

Finally, she can help. It's all she's here to do.

Kara collects her particles and reassembles them in the street. She strains her senses to find any hint of trouble.

An infant is having trouble breathing. Their body temperature is rising. Kara breathes their air; it's thin and stagnant. A confined space.

She's there and tearing the door clear off the car before she has time to remember her subtler powers. The heavy door clatters loudly on the pavement as Kara reaches in and pulls the infant into her arms. They aren't crying, and for once, Kara is sure it isn't a good sign. She presses them against her body, siphons the heat out of them, letting it disperse more quickly in the air. She breathes deep, in, out, directing the baby's lungs along with hers.

They start wailing loudly. Kara feels relief flood her body like a torrent of cool water.

She finds their guardian in an office building, working at a computer. When they see the baby, they spring out of their chair, pushing it away so hard it flips over and clatters to the ground.

"Oh, no, no no no—" the parent chants, tears already dribbling from their eyes. "I forgot—I meant to bring him to daycare, I—"

Kara hands them the baby. They hold him carefully, running their hand over his head over and over.

"His breathing is back to normal, but take him to the hospital to make sure," Kara orders. "Make use of better precautions from now on."

Her only response is louder sobbing.

.

Kara hears a protest, a yelp, a shushing, a muted struggle. Two teenagers in a dorm room.

She doesn't place herself inside. She doesn't think the one who yelped would want to be seen. She shifts herself to the Fortress of Solitude instead, and appears the other human beside her. The one who shushed.

They are the ones to yelp, this time.

"What the fuck, what the fuck?" they babble. "What is this, where am I?"

They start shivering violently. This place is too cold for them. Kara feels their pain, but she feels almost happy for it.

She allows herself to lift up to float, looming above the human. A bit of ice sticks to her bare feet; it breaks free after a moment and tumbles down to the ground with a faint click.

The human turns around. She looks in their eyes, and they look in hers. And _cowers_.

Kara stares at them a while longer, unblinking. "You will never touch another uninvited," Kara tells them at length, her voice reverberating in the ice lined space. "You will never presume to take what isn't freely offered again."

They nod, again and again. "Yes! I mean, no! Never!"

She sends them to a station two cities over from their campus. Fabricating expulsion paperwork for them is trivial. She reroutes their tuition to a local shelter for good measure.

One last thing, she remembers. She materializes herself in front of the other student's door. She can see them clearly through it, a tight, blinking bundle on the bed. She averts her gaze. A group of students is eating Chinese food in another room. Kara ignores the way her stomach clenches.

She knocks on the door. Waits. No answer. The human doesn't shift. Maybe it isn't a god that's needed now.

Kara searches her mind for all the relevant resources in the state. She writes down the numbers, labeled properly, and adds her own. She slips the note under the door.

.

A human in a suit is holding a spray paint bottle, standing in front of a building wall. They've already drawn three thick lines, two short and one longer between them, at right angles of each other. This requires Kara's direct intervention, she thinks. She's unwilling to let them finish.

She materializes directly in front of them. They almost sprayed over her, but she easily slips the bottle out of their grasp, lifting it into the air and crumpling it into a perfect, smooth metallic circle in front of their eyes, without lifting her hands from her sides. The human stumbles back a step. Kara pursues.

"You—you're Supergirl, aren't you?" the human says. "You wouldn't hurt me."

Their voice wobbles. They take another hurried step back, nearly lose their footing for a moment. Kara follows.

"I didn't do shit," the human says. Their words are cutting into each other now. "Just a bunch of lines. The real threat to civilized society—"

Kara takes a breath, and feels herself lifting with it. The human has to crane their neck to look up at her now. She reaches a hand toward them. They flinch. "I love every living being on this planet," she says evenly. "Every breathing thing, I breathe along with them. But you." She stares at them. Their breathing quickens. "You are worse than scum. Hold out your hand."

They do. It's shaking minutely.

Kara picks up the small shiny ball that was once the paint can. She places it in the human's palm. She can clearly see the sweat trickling down their back.

"Do better," she commands.

The human gulps, and turns, and runs. They don't let go of the metal ball, however.

.

She looks for people in need of help. Looks for people who need to be stopped. She finds them. She does her best to correct the situation.

At nightfall she goes to the other side of the world, where the sunlight is good and bright, and does the same.

.

.

Kara can't get tired, not as she is now, but as the days grind into each other, day upon day with no night, she can't deny feeling a sort of… strain. In a state of near numbness, a certain name slips into her mind.

.

.

Kara materializes in Lena Luthor's office at the top of L-Corp headquarters. Why is she here? Strange. She can't think of a reason.

"Lena," she says. The name gives her pleasure to say. She doesn't know why.

Lena's head snaps up at that. Inscrutable expressions flit across her face, settling finally on a frown. "Supergirl! Your eyes are glowing. Are you all right?"

"I'm well," Kara tells her. "I'm not sure why I'm here."

Lena gets up from her chair and rushes towards Kara, bumping into her desk in her haste. "You don't sound fine," she says. "Confusion is never a good sign. Does it hurt anywhere? Have you experienced any memory loss? How many fingers am I holding up? What's the square root of 676?"

"No, no, four, twenty six," Kara responds calmly. Why is she engaging? This seems wasteful of her time.

Lena has reached her, and is grasping her arm, pressing her fingers to the pulse in her wrist. She counts quietly under her breath. "Seems normal," Lena mutters.

"I'm very healthy," Kara points out. Lena glances up at her from beneath her eyelashes. Kara's body… prickles. She reaches out a hand and presses it to Lena's cheek.

Lena's inhale makes a sharp noise. She closes her eyes for 2.47 seconds. "Kara, are you really all right?" she asks again.

"Yes," Kara confirms. Somehow, she doesn't mind the redundancy.

Lena places her hand atop Kara's on her cheek. Kara hears both their heart rates increase.

"Lena," Kara says, "what are you to me?"

Lena's heartbeat stutters. "I—what do you mean?"

"I'm not sure how to make sense of my memory of you," Kara tries to explain.

"You—you said there was no memory loss?"

"I remember," Kara says. "I just don't _understand_."

"Kara, what—what happened?"

"I absorbed my sun," Kara tells her. "I became a god."

Lena takes another audible breath and abruptly moves away, removing Kara's hand from her face. "Does—does Alex know?" Lena asks. Her voice sounds different.

Kara shakes her head. "I haven't taken the time to explain to her."

"She'll be devastated," Lena mutters quietly.

"I don't want to hurt her," Kara says. Her body physically recoils at the thought.

"Kara—it's still you, isn't it?" Lena says, frowning up at her. "You still love her."

Love her. You love this world so very intensely, love all of its people. What does it mean to love one above the others? Mere selfishness.

And yet, it feels true. "Yes," Kara confesses. She isn't interested in lying.

Lena nods to herself. "It's okay. It's going to be okay." She doesn't seem to be talking to Kara. "Kara, I want to help you. Sit with me. I'll answer your questions."

Kara sits. "Who are you to me?" she asks again. "I feel drawn to you."

Lena sits next to her. Very close. Their knees are touching. "You're my—my friend. My family. You're very dear to me, Kara," Lena says. "The most important person in my life." Tears are gathered in Lena's eyes by the end of the sentence. Kara reaches out to coax one onto her finger.

"What does it mean when you cry?" she asks.

Lena blinks; the tears fall. "It means… I feel very strongly. Sadness, or happiness, or relief, or other things sometimes."

"What are you feeling now?"

"Oh," Lena sobs. It takes her 4.8 seconds to continue. "I'm scared of losing you," she says, quiet. "I'm sad that you've changed. I'm grateful that you're here. I… I care very much for you."

Lara presses her palm once more to Lena's now damp cheek. Lena closes her eyes.

A person calls for Supergirl in the distance.

"I must go," Kara says. "I feel reluctant to leave," she admits.

"It's okay." Lena smiles at her crookedly. Kara doesn't ask what that means. It feels like an inappropriate time. "Please, come back?"

"I will." It's a foolish promise to make. But she can't seem to help herself.

.

.

Done with snatching people out of immediate danger, Kara turns her attention to small acts of disaster and war relief. She rebuilds torn buildings, fixes damaged power lines, decontaminates water supplies. Lifts refugees fleeing in precarious inflatable life rafts out of the oceans and places them safely on land. Sneaks the ill and injured and pregnant and desperate past borders patrols and escorts them to organizations that can help.

People need oxygen, warmth, food and water. Kara can often provide these things, but more importantly, there are already systems in place equipped to do the same. A lot of this work is simple logistics. Getting people from one place to another. Connecting organizations with those in need. Allocating resources from place to place.

Kara spends days lost in these processes. Her mind wanders, unsolicited, to… more personal things.

 **.**

 **.**

The next time Alex calls, Kara answers.

 _She'll be devastated_ , Lena's voice echoes in Kara's head. For all that she enjoys that voice, she doesn't enjoy those words. But she is a god. So she ignores her displeasure, and answers the phone, and explains everything.

Alex is silent for thirty eight seconds. The time stretches between them, insignificant in the scheme of things.

"Kara," Alex says finally, voice measured and precise. "Come back home."

"Alex," Kara mirrors. "A home is redundant. I don't need sustenance or rest or recreation. I don't need a home. You should give it away to someone who could benefit from it."

Kara can hear that Alex has begun crying. She remembers the explanation Lena had given her, but it is little help at the moment. Crying, according to Lena, who understands these things, can denote any number of emotions, and Kara doesn't know which one.

"I get that, Kara, I understand," Alex is saying, her voice changed by her tears. "But we need _you._ "

Kara nods to herself. "Your whole world needs me."

"Kara… I don't _need_ you as a protector, or a savior, or a god damn _messiah_. I need you as a _sister_."

Kara frowns. "I don't remember what that means," she admits.

"Okay," Alex says, and the sounds of crying abruptly stop. Alex takes a loud breath. "That's okay. I can help you remember. You can learn all over again. We can fix this. Will you let me try?"

Kara has a world to watch over. Every moment, a thousand people are hurt. Every breath she takes, someone else takes their last. Every second of inactivity is inexcusable in the face of her planet's suffering.

"Yes," she finds herself saying anyway.

.

.

Kara agrees to perform one Alex mandated personal activity per week. (" _Even the Jewish god took one day to rest, Kara,_ " was Alex's argument. " _You have no excuse_.")

The first assignment Alex gives her is to go to Catco.

Kara places herself inside an empty elevator and walks the rest of the way to her floor, as a courtesy. She wouldn't want to scare anyone by appearing out of thin air in the middle of her workplace. Well. Her former workplace. Deities have no need for daytime jobs.

"Wow, Supergirl, I like the costume change," a warm voice greets her.

James. She turns to face him. She wants to touch his cheek, as she did with the others, but he is too tall. She floats up to eye level and does it then.

James smiles at her. It makes her feel warm. "Hey," he says. "Your eyes are glowing." Everyone seems to want to comment on the eyes.

"Yes," she agrees.

"Alex told me about what happened. As far as she understands it, at least."

Kara nods. That's good. She doesn't want to confuse James. And, for some reason, she feels like she'd like to avoid more crying.

"How are you feeling?" James asks her.

"I feel well. Healthy and strong." The repetition chafes. She wants to move on.

"I didn't mean physically," he says, his voice softer now. It feels gentle on Kara's ears. "How are you really feeling, Kara?"

Kara takes a moment to consider the question seriously. She feels whole, in a way she hadn't since she was—home. But she feels lacking as well, splintered among billions of lives and empty of something substantial that used to inhabit her. And she hurts for every hurting thing and soars for every joyous thing; and she feels ten times as much as that for all these people, this family of hers she seems to remember only incompletely.

"I feel conflicted," Kara tells him. "And wishful. And terrified."

James places his hands on her shoulders, and draws her, still airborne, into a hug. "You've always taken on more responsibility than anyone should bear," he says over her shoulder. "But we're here for you, always. That hasn't changed. Even if you are a literal goddess now."

He laughs. Kara makes a note to ask Lena its meaning later.

James holds her for a while longer. Afterwards, Kara remembers this: hugging is something she really, really likes.

.

.

Alex takes her to Noonan's. Kara dutifully drinks some coffee and eats pastries, even though she requires neither the sustenance nor the caffeine; she has a sun burning within her. Alex watches her closely for several moments.

"What are you doing?" Kara asks her.

"Waiting to see the moment the sugar hits," Alex answers, eyes still trained intently on Kara.

Kara has a sudden, strange urge to roll her eyes. For some reason, that same moment, Alex bounces in her seat and cheers loudly.

The next week, Alex brings Kara pizza and potstickers. Kara chews and swallows everything she's handed without protest. The experiment will likely end more quickly that way.

"Well? What do you think?" Alex prods.

"The flavors and textures blend together pleasantly. I could name every ingredient, if you'd like." She pauses, reaching for another potsticker and biting into it as if compelled by some outside force. "I like these," she admits.

Alex makes a very particular face. Kara has no idea what it is, though.

The week after that, Alex takes her to a lecture about the importance of journalistic integrity and freedom of the press in modern times. Kara pretends to listen intently as she scans the building and the streets beyond for imminent destruction. By some uncanny instinct, Alex catches her.

"Kara! You're not even paying attention!" Alex whispers loudly at her.

"I am divine," Kara informs her. "I can listen to more than one droning voice at a time."

Alex looks at her for a moment, then smiles, and leaves her alone for the rest of the lecture.

The next week, Alex doesn't send Kara anywhere in particular. She simply meets up with her in the street.

"Okay. There's one other place I think we should try," Alex says, but she pauses, and doesn't go on.

"What is it?" Kara prompts.

Alex takes a breath. "It's… L-Corp. I think… I think you should talk to Lena Luthor."

"I have already done that," Kara informs her evenly.

Alex raises her eyebrows. "Oh! You have?" she says. "When?"

"Four weeks ago," Kara tells her.

"Hm. That's interesting." Alex frowns and seems to retreat into herself a moment. Then she turns back to Kara. "All right, then, that's enough homework for today. You can get back to demigod duty, Supergirl."

Kara deems it superfluous to expend further energy on trying to analyze her sister's nonsensical behavior.

.

.

Three hundred thousand tons of fresh food are about to be thrown away by supermarkets, restaurants, government facilities and businesses right now. Two million tons more of fruits and vegetables are left discarded on farm grounds. Kara can feel them all in her hands, in her encompassing intangible grip. She breathes in, dissolves rotten and overripe produce back into the soil. She breathes out, pushes unsavory bacteria out and away.

She imagines the weight of all this food. Before, it could have crushed her. Now, only her breathing accelerates in reflex.

She breaks the weight apart, into particles, into waves, into energy. She can see very clearly, as if looking at a collection of pictures, every empty fridge and lacking household or community, every person wandering the streets with a backpack or a plastic bag or shopping cart, every food bank in the world.

Breathe in, breathe out. The food reassembles itself, grains and lentils and produce and meat and processed products, distributed evenly between every point of shortage.

Kara can't read minds, but she can read stomachs. She makes adjustments. It takes several hours, but by the end of the day, no stomach remains empty.  
.

.

Kara is barely surprised when she finds herself once again in Lena Luthor's office. If she's honest with herself, she knows exactly to what purpose she's here, this time.

Besides. She'd promised.

Lena's posture changes entirely when she sees her. The many intricate muscles in her face rearrange themselves. "You're here," she says, quietly, voice tensed with some unknown quality. "You came back."

"Lena," Kara says, unwilling to dawdle, "James has reminded me of something I like. May I do it to you?"

Lena appears to choke on nothing. Kara isn't worried; she can clearly see that it's only Lena's spit. Nothing life threatening. "I—Ahem, excuse me—I don't know if—Kara, you're not—In your current state—"

"Lena," Kara interrupts once she's satisfied Lena has nothing of actual value to say. "What does it mean when your skin flushes?"

"When my skin fl—Oh, god." Lena covers a large portion of her face with her hand; a useless gesture. Kara can see right through it. "It's—embarrassment. I'm just kind of intensely mortified right now, Kara."

"Why?"

Lena makes a strange noise in her throat. "Please don't ask me any more questions right now. Just—put me out of my misery. I'm definitely going to regret asking, but—What did James do?"

"He put his arms around my shoulders," Kara tells her. "And I wrapped mine around his back, underneath his armpits. We both applied pressure, but only a pleasant amount. He was very close and very warm. It felt—good."

"Oh," Lena says on an exhale. Her eyebrows lift. "You hugged."

"Yes," Kara confirms, glad to have reached an understanding. "I'd like to perform it with you, now."

Lena takes a deep breath. Kara finds her gaze drawn to Lena's chest, watching as it rises and falls with the expansion of her lungs, the contraction of her diaphragm. "Okay," Lena says quietly, taking a step forward. She places her hands on Kara's shoulders—this time Kara doesn't have to float. The edges of her index fingers brush the sides of Kara's neck, and Kara is aware of a slight, brief motion of Lena's left fingertip: a smooth caress across the slope of Kara's throat, then a pause.

Lena's face is very close. Her heartbeat is loud and strong in Kara's ears. It's a good sound. "Arms around your shoulder," Lena murmurs. Kara's body shivers in response. She snakes her own arms under Lena's armpits to encircle her back.

Lena is even closer now. Kara closes her eyes, but of course. It's a useless gesture. "Apply pressure," Lena whispers. She squeezes. Tilts her head even closer. "Just the right amount."

Their foreheads are touching now. Lena has closed her eyes too. Kara's breath hitches, but that's just as well. Breathing is unnecessary for her anyway.

They hold the position for two minutes and forty seven seconds. Kara's hands drift naturally down Lena's body to settle at her waist. Lena's body pulses with her blood, rattles with her breath. Kara's is utterly still.

At the forty sixth second of minute two, Lena opens her eyes. "Did that feel good, Kara?" she whispers. She's using the past tense, but doesn't move to let go.

"Yes," Kara whispers, matching Lena's timbre. "Thank you, Lena."

Lena sighs, a deep motion, air lifting her chest again and whooshing out of her nose, brushing Kara's face in a warm airy tickle. Kara notes in herself a strange awareness of Lena's mouth.

"Any time," Lena says, and lets go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Note:** Specific **warnings** for this chapter: attempted self harm and fairly graphic description of an unrelated injury.

Final part! This has been a blast to write. Thank you for reading!

* * *

In this continent there are five times as many unoccupied apartments as there are people without homes. Three times as much food as there are people without food security. Over forty million people living in poverty, while the fifteen million richest own more than all the rest combined.

Kara has always known these facts, ever since she arrived here, twelve and grieving and so confused, unable to comprehend a system that provides resources beyond redundancy to the few, while stipulating the very survival of the many upon their ability to commercialize their labor. She had known it and been horrified by it, but not until now could she conceptualize it fully. Now, with her vision clear and all-encompassing, she can see the full implications of this system, the awful tangibility of it.

Kara settles down comfortably atop the state capitol's domed roof as the sun rises behind her, and directs her attention to redistributing the United States' property and wealth.

Photojournalists' cameras click incessantly below her, and a handful of local news stations have already started broadcasting. She can hear them discussing her, the rogue superhero on a government building's roof, speculating whether this is a sort of protest or political statement. A spontaneous crowd is forming around them. Kara ignores all of it. She'll leave the activism to the citizens. She has an economic system to destabilize.

She shifts stocks around, sharing them between each employee of every respective company. She changes ownership of unused houses and apartment buildings from landlords and real estate moguls and negligent government agencies over to every single homeless person, and some young renting families for good measure. She rewires liquid assets, the easiest part, directly into the bank accounts of struggling individuals and families.

She's causing a great deal of chaos. But meaningful change is rarely orderly.

The names of the top billionaires flash in her mind as she strips them of great portions of their assets. Bill Gates, Warren Buffet, Mark Zuckerberg, Bruce Wayne, Maxwell Lord, Lena Luthor…

 _Oh._

Lena.

.

.

It is still a very early hour of the morning, but when Kara places herself in L-Corp, Lena is already at her office, working.

"Hello, Lena," Kara begins without preamble. "I have given away most of your money."

Lena stares at her for nearly six seconds. Then she laughs. "Yeah," she says, her voice loose somehow. "I noticed."

Kara steps closer to her. She wants to hug her again, or at least touch her cheek in greeting, but some old instinct within her tells her this contact might not be welcome. "Are you upset?" Kara asks her.

"Am I upset? A little bit," Lena replies. "But not at you, Kara."

"Really?" The question slips from Kara's lips despite herself. How embarrassing, for the protector of Earth to seek this trivial reassurance so plaintively.

"Yes, really," Lena confirms.

"Why?"

"Well," says Lena. "I understand why you did, and I support your endeavor. I can't say this is convenient, but I can't say it's unjust either. I'll adjust. It's invigorating, in a way. Necessity is the mother of invention and all that."

"Will you be all right?" Kara asks.

"Kara, you didn't leave me _destitute_. Even if you did, you wouldn't have to worry," Lena says with a flick of her hand. "Luthors always land on their feet, after all." She wiggles an eyebrow.

Kara nods. Lena smiles at her. Her face seems to soften.

"Thank you, Kara," she says. "This may not be advantageous for me, but I'm glad you do what you do. I'm grateful you are who you are."

Kara feels as if her whole being expands with deep affection.

"I'm grateful you are as you are, as well," Kara tells Lena, and means it with every living cell of her body.

.

.

There are things to do. So many, constant. Kara has the ability to do them, ceaselessly. Given this fact, isn't it pure cruelty for her to stop? A self indulgent question. She knows with a deep certainty that it is.

And yet. Kara stands still.

Her awareness is narrowed, zeroed in on eight individuals, tuning out eight billion others. There's a heavy, painful feeling in her chest; her body thrums with it. It's entirely inappropriate, she knows, for a god to _yearn_.

Kara finds herself in Alex's apartment before she can even admit to herself that she's given in. Alex is asleep in her bed; Kara wants her awake. She coaxes a half-full bottle of mouthwash to hover in the air and lets it drop on Alex's stomach.

"Motherfuck _shit! What?_ " Kara hears Alex yelp. And then, a gunshot.

Kara shifts the bullet's kinetic energy into heat to spare Alex's apartment wall. The bullet melts into a metallic puddle on the floor instead. Not significantly less inconvenient, perhaps.

Before Kara can fix it, Alex barges out of the bedroom, stumbling into the living room until she's face to face with Kara. She lowers the gun.

"I didn't want to startle you," Kara says at the same time as Alex growls: "Kara! You scared the shit out of me, you doofus!"

Alex is hunched over slightly, breathing heavily and making odd gestures with her hands, one of which still holds her gun. Kara watches her, and then something incredible happens to Kara: she laughs.

Alex's movement completely stills; she just stands there, gaping, as Kara laughs and laughs. Kara's body is tireless, but she can feel the memory of strain in her abdominal muscles. Her face feels warm, and inexplicable tears are prickling at the corners of her eyes. She's suddenly deadly certain: here is another thing she loves that she's forgotten.

Kara closes her eyes to savor this warm, bubbly, indescribably feeling; she still sees as Alex's body softens, tension releasing from her muscles, and she puts down the gun and walks forward to pull Kara tightly into her arms.

 _Good,_ Kara thinks vaguely. She's been meaning to try hugging Alex as well.

"There you are," Alex is muttering in Kara's ear. "There you are, Kara."

The giggling takes some time to subside, but Alex doesn't let go. Kara notices Alex has also opted for James's technique of chin-over-the-shoulder hugs rather than Lena's forehead-to-forehead. She makes a note to ask Lena about the different meanings later.

"I think I've missed you," Kara tells Alex.

Alex snorts. "You'd damn well better have," she says. "I've been missing you so much I'm developing an ulcer."

"Isn't it another version of me that you miss?" Kara asks.

"Shut it, you ass. You know I love every version of you."

"Do I?" Kara asks, though suddenly it occurs to her that she absolutely does. What a strangely obvious thing to have forgotten.

"Of course I do," Alex says anyway. "You're my insufferable little sister."

"I think… I think _I_ might be missing another version of myself," Kara admits.

Alex takes a deep breath, and draws away from Kara, eyes flitting across her face. "There's a certain godhead we need to be working on returning, in that case."

"I do not think the standard 30 day policy applies," Kara says.

Alex snorts. "Yep," she says, "there she is."

.

.

Kara enters her apartment for the first time in many weeks, the first time since she was gifted with divinity. She spreads herself out on her bed, the horizontal position a novelty. She has Rao's light within her now, she doesn't need sleep, but she closes her eyes anyway and waits to dream.

She opens her eyes in darkness. And then, there's light: red and overpowering.

"You wish to give up your gift," Rao accuses.

"Yes."

Rao's deadly heat radiates over her skin, surges within her. She's unharmed. This is a dream, and she is light. "You are doing much good," says Rao. "You would give that up as well?"

"I'm hurting the people I love," Kara replies.

"Love," repeats Rao. "You love all the beings of Earth."

Kara shakes her head. It's the truth, but it isn't complete. "I don't know if I can keep choosing them over my… my family."

"Your family is safer with your protection," Rao points out.

They are, of course. But Alex's words echo in her mind. "They need more than my protection."

"It is your choice," says Rao. Kara's very being reverberates with the acknowledgement. "Choose good, or selfishness."

Rao burns, and so does Kara. "Why did you choose me?" she asks. It comes out a plea, laced with desperation.

"Because you are worthy," Rao states simply. "And because you are the last."

Kara closes her eyes. The last. The last of her people, the last of Rao's people. Every one of them gone but her and a baby who had grown up far away. Nothing left of them of now but this, this memory of their culture, their faith, their legacy. And Kara carries it within her now, a gift given with trust and generosity, and she would choose to reject it?

In this new body, with this new power, she never needs to slow down. Never needs to stop. She can save as many lives as there are seconds in the day. Improve as many circumstances as her ingenuity extends. Before, she needed the support of the DEO, the authorization of the government, the help of her colleagues and friends. She needed rest and leisure and encouragement and emotional relief. All of them an indulgence, all of them a waste. Going back to that existence means throwing countless lives away.

Good, or selfishness, Rao said. They're right. They're right, of course.

She chooses good.

.

.

.

There are nearly two thousand people who lack health insurance in National City alone. If Kara lets herself, she can feel every hurt, every illness, every chronic condition of every single person in the world. She doesn't let herself, of course. Even for a god, that would be unendurable. But she does allow herself to feel the pain of the 137 uninsured residents of National City who are currently in pain.

Some of them have been hurt by others. Most of them have been hurt by accidents, illnesses, age. None of them are receiving the care they need. One young person, an alien with college textbooks piled high on their bed, is walking around with a broken wrist that hasn't seen anything beyond a pharmacy clerk. Another, a parent of three, has a growth Kara immediately recognizes as operable. It's clearly visible under the human's skin. They must be aware of it. Yet, nothing's been done. Perhaps they can't afford the procedure.

This is something Kara's never done. This is something that, as far as she's aware, no one ever has. Maybe Jesus? She's not totally versed in Earth theology. But she thinks she can. She wants to. Preventative measures are good, removing people from danger is important, but Kara doesn't think she can ignore all this existing pain for much longer. She has widespread knowledge of human and alien physiology; she has the ability to pick matter apart and sew it back together. It's time she tried her hand at healing.

Kara has no problem operating long distance. She doesn't even need to see; she can feel every cell of every organism if she focuses hard enough. But it does require her to focus. She can only work on one person at a time, and she's completely lost in them while she does, insensate to all else, including her own body. If somebody called for her help now… if her family were in danger… she wouldn't know. But that's the price one has to pay when they choose good over selfishness, isn't it?

Kara flies up above the city, enjoying the wind on her skin. She wiggles her fingers, just for the pleasure of it. She won't actually be using them. The realization that she's _nervous_ skitters across her mind, but she lets it skip away. This is no time to focus on herself.

She picks her first target: a human with an infected wound. Painful but simple, relatively safe. She focuses on the bacteria, the dead white blood cells, and orders every single one of them away. She reassembles them in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Next, she turns her attention to the torn skin, the damaged blood vessels. She doesn't feel ambitious enough to recreate cells anew, but she can at least coax the tissue back together. The wound is clean now, held close by a precariously thin layer of cells. Good enough.

Kara notices that she's sweating. That hasn't happened before. She's also filled with some very large, restless emotion; with a jolt, she recognizes it as elation.

She feels proud of herself. She releases her focus, and moves on to the next person.

.

.

After healing illness after illness and fixing injury after injury for forty two numb hours, Kara pauses in midair. Suddenly, she feels stuck.

She allows herself to float gently upward until the air becomes thin and she approaches the Karman line. She's chosen to do good. She's decided not to pause. Are forty two hours all she's capable of?

She summons her phone to her. Alex has been trying to get in contact. Two missed calls. And a message.

From Lena.

 _Pathetic_ , Kara admonishes herself even as she's flying down back toward Earth's surface. _You possess the essence of a god and you can't keep your mind off a single human for two full days._ She expends a great deal of concentration to force herself not to go to L-Corp.

She finds herself at the DEO instead.

"Supergirl!" Vasquez calls immediately once Kara is through the doors. "You're finally here! We have so much for you to look at, and if you could go see Pam on your way out—"

Kara brushes past her and dissipates herself away, down to the vaults where the most dangerous weapons are kept. She has one certain lockbox in mind. She finds it quickly. Phasing the weapon out of its safe is trivial; with it now in hand, she crouches to sit down on the floor, and unsheathes it.

The jagged kryptonite blade shines vibrant green in the darkened vault. Kara feels nothing.

She wraps her fingers around the blade, palm pressed to the toothy sharpened edge of it. She tightens her grip, waiting for pain, for blood.

Nothing.

A figure appears in the doorway. Tall and dark, dressed all in black. He knocks unnecessarily on the edge of one of the safes mounted on the wall near the entrance. Something about the gesture is incredibly, jarringly endearing.

"J'onn," Kara greets him.

"Hello, Kara." He smiles that smile at her again. The one that makes her feel very warm.

She loosens her hold on the dagger. "Lately, whenever people call my name that way, I feel as if they mean to call somebody else," she tells J'onn idly. "Is that odd?"

"I don't think it is." J'onn sits down next to her on the floor, folding his legs and placing his hands on his knees. He gently coaxes the kryptonite dagger out of Kara's hands and places it back in its safe. "It's okay to change. But many people find it difficult."

"I don't feel that way when you say it." Kara watches the kryptonite's glow reflect off the inside wall of the safe. Lead doesn't hamper her sight anymore.

"That's very reassuring to hear."

She looks at his face. Familiar and comforting, but still inscrutable. "Can you still read my mind, J'onn?"

He shakes his head. "Why? Is there something you wanted to know?"

She looks away, though she can still see him. She can still see everything. What she can't do is stop. "I would like to know if I made the right choice," she says. "I think that I did. But I also think that I didn't."

"Uh huh," he says. "I don't know what your choices were. But what I want to know is: the right choice for _whom_?"

Kara's body jolts at that. "Um—for the world," she stumbles. "Or—for me."

"Oh, look at that," J'onn says. "I didn't know gods can stutter."

Kara's next breath comes out like a sort of exclamation.

"Or laugh," J'onn adds, smile twisting pleasantly.

"Yes," Kara says, feeling simultaneously lost and very much at home. "This is my second time."

J'onn nods. "Kara, listen. I care about this planet. I've found a home here, and I've devoted the rest of my life to keeping it safe. But I care about some things even more." He reaches out, covers one of her hands with his. "One of those things is you, and your happiness. And it would make _me_ very happy if you valued these things too."

"I—" Kara starts, with no earthly idea of how to finish.

"So I think, this once, you should forget about the world," J'onn continues. "And do right by Kara Zor-El."

Kara can find nothing to say to that, so she stays silent. She's been waiting, she realizes, for permission to do this very thing.

.

.

Just as soon as Kara lands on Lena's balcony, Lena is already opening the door for her. Kara has the distinct feeling that she'd been expected somehow. They step into each other's arms in sync.

Lena flashes Kara a smile as she withdraws from the hug. "I don't want to give you the impression that I've been spending all day gazing out a window waiting to catch a glimpse of you," Lena says. "But I _might_ have spent the last five minutes or so doing that. It's good to see you, Supergirl."

"I wanted to see you," Kara tells her. "I always want to see you."

Lena takes in a sharp breath. Her mouth opens, but she says nothing.

Kara takes a step closer to her, briefly brushes her fingertips along the curve of her cheek. "I crave your company." The confession bubbles off her lips."I think of you constantly. I pick out your heartbeat at odd moments. I want to be near you. What does that mean?"

Lena shifts her head, her eyebrows bunching in a frown. "Kara," she says, her tone heavy with some unknown meaning. "I can't answer that for you. Especially not now."

Kara stares at Lena's lips as they move, and as they still. They're full and captivating, painted red with smooth lipstick. Kara can see where the lipstick's faded on their inner side, close to the wetness of her mouth; where the waxy substance of it has been stretched and broken over the subtle creases of Lena's lips. "I want to touch you," Kara says without fully processing her own words. "Do you want that?"

Lena closes her eyes. Bites her lip, then releases it; ( _the inner edge of her lipstick fades further_ ). Opens her eyes again. Her breath is thunder in Kara's ears. "Yes," she says. "Please. Yes."

Kara shifts toward her with her entire body. Lena grasps her by the front of her suit, fingers digging into the shining material, knuckles pressing against Kara's chest. Kara brushes one hand along Lena's side, framing her lovely body, settling at her waist; the other hand she presses, open palmed and flat on Lena's chest atop her precious beating heart.

Lena seems to be in constant motion, buzzing all over, but she hasn't moved her head, neither closer nor away. Kara dips her head instead; finally close enough. She brushes her lips over Lena's; nearly jumps with the shocking pleasure of the contact.

She shifts back to rub her thumb over them, feel them so soft and yielding beneath the calloused pad of it. She smudges the lipstick outside the gentle borders of Lena's lips, feeling a surge of surprising satisfaction at the disorder of the sight.

Lena's hands tug on Kara's suit, and Kara leans in to put her lips back to Lena's again, her hand now cupping the side of her face, filled with need and tenderness. She presses closed lips to Lena's, only to find them slightly parted now, painting her mouth with warm moisture. The subtle texture of Lena's tongue is intoxicating. Kara wants to feel more. She wants to taste.

Kara opens her mouth. Licks just along the inside of Lena's upper lip, grazing the top of her tongue. Lena whimpers. For once, Kara feels certain that she doesn't need to ask what it means.

Lena moves her lips slightly, and suddenly Kara's tongue is in her mouth. She's warm and heady and tastes fresh and sharp like mint and lemon and something deeper, complex and distinct. Kara feels encompassed within her, preternatural senses narrowed down to this moment and this person and this single disorienting point of contact.

They spend an amount of time Kara is too preoccupied to quantify just this way, moving just this tiny piece of their bodies against each other, the motions still somehow completely fascinating. Their kiss deepens and softens, shifting smoothly like the tides. Kara has the whole world within her grasp, and she's still sure she's never felt this _much_.

Finally, they part. Slowly, breaths puffing against each other's kiss swollen mouths. Lena's eyes are half lidded, her face fiercely flushed. Is it embarrassment, like she'd told Kara before? It doesn't seem to fit.

Lena brushes three fingers over Kara's lips and chin, then her cheek, her eyebrow, the soft hair near her ear. "I don't know if this was the wrong thing to do, but please, Kara," Lena murmurs. "Just say you'll be back."

"I will," Kara promises, the words ringing with truth, and Kara doesn't spare a single moment to regret them. "I will always come back to you, Lena."

Lena takes a sharp breath, then exhales a sharp laugh. "I can't believe a god just said this to me."

"I carry the essence of Rao, and some stories have painted them as a great big romantic," Kara informs her.

Lena laughs again. Kara still has her palm pressed to her chest, and she can feel it rumble with her laughter. The sensation fills her with emotion.

And she knows, suddenly, with overwhelming clarity, what she wants to do.

.

.

Kara goes to sleep again.

Rao doesn't greet her this time. Doesn't ask, doesn't argue. They just burn. Celestial and eternal.

Kara's stomach twists with shame and determination.

She lifts up her chin. "I think I need to choose selfishness," she says, enunciating clearly, the guilt piercing invisible needle punctures in her skin. "I think it's time I chose myself."

"Very well, Kara Danvers Zor-El," Rao proclaims. Kara's bones rattle with the words. "We release you of our power."

The symbol on her chest, every dot of light in her suit dim. Kara is engulfed in darkness, and in a feeling of intense loss—but at the same time, intense relief.

"Perhaps, one day, we will find another." The words echo in Kara's mind just on the edge of awakening. "Perhaps, after all, you are not the last."

.

.

.

Kara wakes up at the DEO once again, to Alex's face filling her field of vision. This time, she can read the anxiety and hope etched in it melt into relief and joy and adoration with perfect clarity.

"Welcome back," Alex murmurs, and they both reach out to touch each other's cheeks at the same time, bumping their arms together.

They both laugh.

"Help me up, help me up!" Kara demands, and Alex simply hauls her up and onto herself, transitioning seamlessly into a big hard hug.

"Lemme get in on this," Winn says from somewhere to her left; Kara can't see for the tears in her eyes.

"Make some room for me," says James, piling on from the right.

And then all of them are suddenly several inches above the floor as J'onn grabs all their waists in one bulky bundle, like a bouquet of humanoid flowers, and lifts them in the air.

Once J'onn has set them down and the group hug breaks apart and their laughter dissipates, Alex takes hold of Kara's shoulders. The others give them space.

"Thank you," Kara says quietly. "I don't know if I would've been able to choose myself without you."

"I hope you know I worked my ass off to get you back, and you owe me two dinners and a brunch," Alex informs her. They smile at each other.

And then, over Alex's shoulder, Kara spots Lena.

She all but shoves Alex aside. "Rude," Alex comments good-naturedly.

When Lena notices that Kara is looking at her, she gives a painfully awkward half wave and a hesitant smile. "Hi, Kara," she says, voice soft with uncertainty. "I don't know if—"

Kara bowls straight into her.

Lena receives her with open arms but some surprise, stumbling back a couple of steps. Kara might have thrown herself at her a little too hard, perhaps even enough to bruise, but at the moment she's light years away from feeling guilty about it. She places her hand at the small of Lena's back and tugs her close, pressing her stomach and hips fully against her own body, and giggles in Lena's face.

Lena looks stunned for a moment, and then she doesn't look like anything, because she's pulled Kara into an urgent, vibrant, wholly uncoordinated kiss. The giggling isn't necessarily conducive to effective makeouts, but they manage. In any case it makes things more interesting.

Lena pulls back after some time to babble, "So we're on the same page, Kara, I like you, just to make sure, I think we should date, if you're amenable—"

Kara laughs wildly and presses them closer together. "Yes, yes, absolutely, obviously," she says, a little too quickly, words cutting into each other. "Kiss now, talk later?"

Lena nods vigorously. Somebody hoots behind them. Kara knows, with complete certainty, that every single one of her ancestors would be proud.

And she isn't even a little bit sorry.


End file.
